


heat haze

by heartw0rms



Category: Naruto
Genre: "Art" Appreciation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Uchiha Itachi, Covert Investigations, Deidara Waxing Poetic Over Itachi's Everything, Dom Sasori, Established Sasodei, Genjutsu In The Bedroom, M/M, Polyamory, Scheming, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:17:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartw0rms/pseuds/heartw0rms
Summary: Sasori and Deidara discover what Itachi has long since known: a masked man going by the name of Uchiha Madara is pulling the Akatsuki’s strings. This calls for further investigation. The three of them meet in Konoha to break into the Uchiha Clan records.Deidara is slowly realizing that for Uchiha Itachi, everything begins and ends in this village. He can’t stand this fragile tension hovering between him and Itachi and Sasori any longer. He wants to know for certain if Itachi wants them.





	heat haze

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. Uh. People wanted more autistic Itachi and Sasori/Itachi, so I'm here to deliver! With Deidara getting in on the action this time, too. Also more genjutsu in the bedroom lol
> 
> Because it’s Relevant: I imagine Sasori’s puppet body to be pretty much the Naruto equivalent of cyberpunk. There’s a wooden frame, synthetic parts that mostly correspond to senses, so eyes, ears, skin (sensitive to pressure but not pain or pleasure), and the whole mouth/throat/vocal chords set up. The brain/higher nervous functions are encoded into seals, and then there’s the organic core with its corresponding chakra system. I imagine he did the bare minimum aesthetically necessary with synthetics and the rest with seals to facilitate ease of transfer into other puppet bodies. Sasori is a genius, too bad the Naruto world isn’t into augmenting or altering your humanity. (But he didn’t bother to make himself a dick. He uses a strap-on. It’s easier to clean!)

Deidara reaches out, his fingertips hovering inches away from Itachi's shoulder, uncertain if his touch is welcome. "You Uchihas. Always looking for something out of reach, hmm?" He follows Itachi's gaze to the Konoha skyline, burnished hazy gold in the early evening heat. Itachi shifts and meets Deidara's gaze from the corner of his eyes. Deidara thinks of Obito, sharp and cruel and wearing Madara's name like armor, and Itachi, forever looking forwards towards his death.  
  
He breathes in the cloying smell of more green and growing and flowering things than should ever be planted in one village. Deidara doesn't know what is bothering Itachi, and he knows if he asks, Itachi won't answer. He tries to reassure him anyway. "We're safe here. Sasori's seals will disorient any shinobi that get within 50 yards of this building. Stop worrying about things you can't change, yeah? That's how you miss out on living." Itachi tips his head in acknowledgement, but Deidara is unsure if Itachi is merely humoring him or if what he said is sinking in.  
  
Deidara gestures across the rooftops where the setting sun's reflection in a hundred glossy windows looks like spheres of flame. "Look at the way the reflection of the light hits the windows. It looks like your fireball jutsu, or my explosions, yeah. There will never be another moment just like this one. Right here, right now, this is art." He ducks his head and drapes his hands over the balcony railing, watching the shadows that drip from his fingers shrink and grow. A tiny hysterical part of him can't believe he dared to say that.  
  
"It is _not_ art unless you can preserve this moment for eternity so that the memory never fades away," Sasori says crabbily from where he is sprawled on the hotel room bed with one arm tossed over his eyes. Deidara disagrees. Pressing individual moments like flowers beneath glass will inevitably cause the clarity of the experience to decay.  
  
"The Sharingan preserves memories with perfect recall," Itachi says softy. "Sometimes it feels more like a curse than a gift." Sasori lifts his head to stare at Itachi, transfixed by the lure of infinity. The tension in the room climbs up, and up, and _up._ Deidara's mouths go dry in jittery anticipation. He forces himself to ignore the ache of _want_ in his chest. He has not forgotten how Itachi looked in that moment when he conscripted Deidara into Akatsuki, weaving dreams and illusions into reality while backlit by a halo of amber light. Now _that_ was art, although Deidara is too proud to admit it aloud.  
  
"Humans are not meant to comprehend eternity," Itachi continues, perfectly oblivious to the undercurrents in the room, "but to live solely in the present is to forget our history and lose sight of the future. Your perspectives are both flawed." Sasori meets Deidara's eyes and they share a moment of commiseration over Itachi's _everything._ This collaborative investigation has been trying for multiple reasons. Almost all of them begin and end with haughty Uchihas.  
  
Sasori breaks eye contact and straightens up. "The Akatsuki is compromised," he says shorty, guiding the subject back to their self-appointed mission. Deidara has always appreciated Sasori's lack of bullshit.  
  
"Our Leader is twisted around Madara's little finger. 'Madara' is most likely Uchiha Obito, who according to the clan records—” Sasori nods to Itachi — "died in a cave-in after gifting his teammate his eye. His body was never retrieved. I'm loath to take the lines we've been fed about gathering the bijuu to create a forbidden jutsu weapon at face value either." His tone grows gradually more frustrated the longer he speaks. "It will take further investigation to find out just what Madara intends to use the bijuu _for,_ but the result is bound to be catastrophic." Deidara knows that before Sasori overheard something _interesting_ at the Amegakure base and started prying, Sasori's loyalty was to Akatsuki absolutely.  
  
"Deidara, Itachi, opinions?" Sasori asks briskly. Itachi's gaze goes narrow and sharp and manic in the same way that it did when Sasori first cornered him and demanded, _Tell me what you know about Madara._ Deidara's fingers twitch instinctively for the explosive clay. If he knows Itachi at all he's considering removing _liabilities,_ and the only reason Sasori emerged unscathed from Itachi's genjutsu the last time is Sasori's uncanny ability to convince everyone that his own ideas are in their best interest.  
  
"Obito's Mangekyō allows him to teleport and phase through physical attacks. It will be difficult to take him out," Itachi says clinically, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows. "We need to gather more intel. Perhaps if I were to trap him in a genjutsu and exhaust his chakra so his Mangekyō shuts down—”  
  
"Wait, wait, wait!" Deidara interjects, waving his hands wildly at Itachi to _stop, stop talking now._ "Should we even be _trying_ to take him out, yeah? Why don't we desert while we still can, and get out before this shit show goes down? I don't know about you two but I did _not_ sign up for this, and I don't see why it has to be my responsibility to police what fake-Madara gets up to in his spare time, yeah."  Deidara spreads his hands, palms open, as if to say, _that's just my opinion, don't give me hell for it._ He certainly didn't _volunteer_ to join the Akatsuki. If not for Sasori he would have found a way to outsmart the tracking function in his ring and pretended to blow himself up long ago. It's not like he lacks in ingenuity.  
  
"We are _not_ going to desert," Sasori hisses viciously. "Orochimaru would never let me hear the end of it. Deidara, you do have a point. If Madara is the lynchpin behind the Akatsuki's plans, if we take him out we bring the collective wrath of the rest of the organization down on our heads. I, personally, would doubt our odds of survival in a fight against Pein, Konan, Zetsu, and perhaps Kisame if the rumors my information network have heard about a masked man pulling the Mizukage's strings are true." Sasori runs his hands frustratedly through his hair. Deidara wants to reach out and smooth it back down, but now isn't the time.  
  
"So what do you expect us to do then? You don't want to desert, but you don't want to take the threat out either? Do you expect us to just sit on our hands and do nothing, hmm?" Deidara demands, his frustration at not having a clear-cut answer bleeding through. "Or maybe you want to try to convince 'Madara' to leave the bijuu alone and stop fucking with our Leader's head?" he drawls sarcastically. Itachi stiffens almost imperceptibly.  
  
Sasori notes Itachi's reaction and asks, "Itachi? You are the only one of us who has had any direct interaction with Madara. Is opening a line of communication with him worth considering?" The tension in Itachi's frame coils tighter.  
  
Itachi turns his face away, hiding behind silky black hair. "Do you intend to speak to Madara or Obito? If you approach him as Madara, he will need an assurance of your loyalty." His voice is absolutely devoid of inflection, and Deidara experiences a moment of sinking horror as makes the connection to _Itachi's clan._ "You are not Uchihas and he has not sought you out, so knowing about his existence is very suspicious. He will take whatever measures are necessary to silence you or twist you to his own ends like he has twisted Pein." The evening air is warm but Deidara is chilled to the bone. How much longer than Deidara and Sasori has Itachi been playing this game? "If you approach him as Obito... I don't know. I can't imagine the reaction would be favorable," Itachi says, ducking further behind the shield of his hair. Deidara has to physically stop himself from reaching out to him.  
  
"Who is Obito to you?" Sasori asks with that familiar intense insight that cuts straight to the heart of the matter and makes him so talented at information gathering. It is only because Deidara is standing so close to Itachi that he sees the minute shudder travel through his frame, and then it all comes spilling out in a rushed nonsensical mess that is almost too quiet to be heard.  
  
"I think— out of everyone from my clan, he's one of the ones I'd have least have expected to be behind that mask. He was one of my favorite cousins, until he died. He used to sneak me out of the compound to play even though I was the clan heir and should have been single-mindedly dedicated to shinobi training." It sounds like it physically pains Itachi to keep speaking but he literally cannot stop. "He was _loyal to Konoha —_ someone must have hurt him — gotten into his head — he helped me _slaughter my clan_ and I wouldn't be surprised if he was responsible for the Kyuubi attack. The only way this could possibly be worse would be if _Shisui_ was Madara, but without his Mangekyō he could never pull off such an elaborate deception to my face—” Itachi breaks off to cough wetly into his hand, his thin frame shaking with the force of it. He stares at the flecks of scarlet glistening on his palm like he isn't sure what to make of them.  
  
Sasori sends Deidara a panicked look and signs very hastily at him in the Suna dialect, _"What do I DO?"_ Deidara ignores him. If Sasori wants to poke at people's brittle places he should be prepared for the inevitable emotional reactions. Deidara doesn't stop himself from reaching out this time. He very gently cups Itachi's cheek, keeping the mouth on his palm firmly closed, giving Itachi time to pull away if his touch is unwelcome.  
  
Itachi presses his face into Deidara's hand. His eyes flutter closed, and he says _"Oh,"_ very softly, as if it has finally sunk in that Deidara and Sasori aren't trying to manipulate him for his eyes or his power or his intel. His skin is warm and smooth beneath Deidara's palm and Deidara _aches_ to lean in and kiss him, aches to undress him. He wants to know what sounds Itachi will make when he touches him and he's so sick of not _knowing_ if Itachi wants him too, of waiting for this fragile tension woven between him and Itachi and Sasori to break.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Deidara asks carefully. Most of what Deidara knows about Itachi has been learned though meticulous observation rather than Itachi sharing more than tiny snippets about himself. Deidara has never heard the name Shisui before. Itachi pulls away from Deidara's touch and shakes his head. He brings his arm up and tucks it defensively into the front of his cloak as if to shield himself from emotional clairvoyance.  
  
"I've already said too much," Itachi admits quietly. Deidara nods and steps back, giving him his space.  
  
"So," Sasori says, bulldozing right over the uncomfortable display of _feelings_ as if he doesn't have them, "this is what's been bothering you all afternoon. If Obito matters that much to you, we'll try to negotiate with him before we consider more permanent solutions, okay?" Itachi nods from behind his hair. "We should let him know deception is pointless straight out by calling him Obito instead of Madara. If he's unbalanced, it's more likely that we'll get the upper hand and he'll reveal more information that could be of use to us. Do you approve, Itachi?" It is just like Sasori to pretend he doesn't care while being considerate of other people's feelings.  
  
"I will approach him with my suspicions," Itachi says solemnly, as if this is just another mission assignment instead of a discussion among equals. Itachi doesn't have the slightest trace of resentment in his voice and Deidara suddenly, viciously _loathes_ Konoha for training Itachi into this self-sacrificing expectation that he'll be forced to take the hardest missions at the cost of his well-being. Shit like _this_ is why their villages don't deserve them.  
  
"Where did you get _I_ from _we,_ yeah," Deidara says. "We're going to confront Obito together. No offense, but you're the weak link. He'll use the fact that you care about him against you. He'll have a much more difficult time turning the three of us against each other." Itachi's brows pull together in confusion, as if he can't believe that Deidara or Sasori would bother standing up for him, and that is so _frustrating_ that Deidara reaches out without conscious thought and clasps one of Itachi's hands between his palms. "We've got your back, hmm," Deidara assures him. Itachi gazes intently into Deidara's eyes, trying to divine whether or not he is lying to him. Deidara has to fight the impulse to break eye contact with the Sharingan.  
  
"Deidara's right. You're emotionally compromised," Sasori says, vaguely apologetic. "It might be better if you were to sit this one out, Itachi. As far as Obito knows, Deidara still passionately hates you and I am indifferent to your existence, so the three of us suddenly cooperating is suspect. I'll tell him a bit of the truth — that I overheard him speaking to our Leader — and say I used my contacts to investigate from there. That way if our conclusions about his identity are incorrect the fallout will be less catastrophic than if you'd been present."  
  
"You need to communicate with me. Everything Obito says and does. Otherwise I don't agree to this," Itachi says, low and intent. His gaze is red like embers, hot like blood, and Deidara is drowning in it. Itachi doesn't seem to feel the need to look away the way Deidara does. Deidara swallows. If he stares into Itachi's eyes for another _second_ he won't be able to resist the impulse to crush their lips together.  
  
"We can do that, yeah," he says, averting his eyes. He wills his voice not to crack. "So, um, are you staying in here tonight? Or going back to your room with Kisame?" If Itachi decides to stay, Deidara knows it means he actually wants their company.  
  
"I'll stay," Itachi decides. "I'm slightly apprehensive about being alone with Kisame again, knowing that he may be loyal to Obito. I've let my guard down around him, and if he has been reporting on me..." Itachi shudders, pulling his hand out of Deidara's grasp, and Deidara wonders once again _just what sort of fucked-up hellscape is Konoha?_  
  
He is _trying_ to be there for Itachi, but he feels like no matter what he does it's never enough to convince Itachi that he's trustworthy. He likes what glimpses of himself Itachi has already let come filtering through. All the same, Deidara's aware he's barely scratched the surface, and there are secrets hiding like shadows in the deep and they have teeth. He's certain it all circles back inevitably to this village. He just doesn't know what he has to do to get Itachi to confide in him.  
  
He stalks over to the bed and flounces down next to Sasori. Deidara wraps an arm around Sasori's waist and buries his nose in his hair, breathing in the scent of aromatic desert wood. "What is it?" Sasori asks, low and soft in his ear. Sasori is much better at breaking people than comforting them, but oh how Deidara appreciates him for _trying._ Deidara shakes his head and huffs into Sasori's hair.  
  
"Nothing. I just thought of something frustrating. It's not a big deal, yeah." It would be rude to talk about it with Itachi in the room. Simply being close to Sasori is enough to soothe him. Sasori traces slow shivery circles on the small of Deidara's back, and Deidara wants to melt into his skin. He can't stop himself from dropping a tiny closed-mouthed kiss on his shoulder. Sasori is beautiful and eerie in the afterglow of twilight, with his feathery red hair washed in violet shadows. He looks like the perfect mold from which humanity was cast. Deidara's gaze drifts to Itachi, standing silhouetted on the balcony, his eyes reflecting light like opaque jewels. Deidara _aches_ with how he wants them both.  
  
Sasori presses his nails into Deidara's skin through the mesh of his shirt, a tiny needle-sharp whisper of sensation which draws out curls of heat in Deidara's abdomen, and Deidara can take a _hint._ He wants to straddle Sasori and push him down onto the bed and kiss him until his eyes go hot and hazy. Is Itachi aware of the atmosphere in the room? Is Itachi immune to the way they want to engulf him between them? Sasori meets his eyes with an amused tilt of his eyebrow like he knows exactly what Deidara is thinking, and Deidara cups his hands around Sasori's neck and kisses him because he _can_ kiss Sasori. It is soft and slow and when Sasori's tongue ghosts across the roof of his mouth Deidara shivers _hard,_ his toes curling. He doesn't fully understand the concept of Sasori's art but oh how he _appreciates_ it.  
  
"What are you _doing?"_ Itachi asks, sounding desperately confused. Sasori breaks the kiss and Deidara makes an aggrieved, protesting noise. Sasori runs a soothing hand down his spine.  
  
"Was it not obvious?" Sasori asks lightly. "I thought your observational skills were better than that."  
  
"I assumed you were friends," Itachi says ruefully. "Your constant arguments about the true meaning of art are not characteristic of affection." _Friends?_ They haven't kissed in Itachi's presence before but Deidara assumed it would be obvious that they are more than friends from the way they gravitate towards one another: the constant touching, the bickering in Suna handsigns, the tendency to communicate through eye contact alone. "Do you want me to leave?" Itachi asks, glancing towards the door as if it is a predetermined conclusion.  
  
"No, you should definitely stay," Sasori says, tilting his chin up and sending Itachi a scorching gaze. His voice goes low and husky and authoritative in a way that makes heat bloom in Deidara's gut. "I'm thoroughly _sick_ of waiting for you to make up your mind." He extends a single finger and hooks a delicate chakra string beneath Itachi's chin, a single shimmering strand of light yawning across the chasm between them. All of the air rushes out of Deidara's lungs. It feels like the very room itself is holding its breath. "Do you want us or not, Itachi?" Itachi _shivers._ Deidara can relate. It's an intense experience, being caught in Sasori's web.  
  
"We'll take care of you, yeah," Deidara says, reaching out an open hand for Itachi to take or reject as he pleases. Itachi looks from Sasori's steady, burning gaze to Deidara's open palm.  
  
"Okay," Itachi says, exhaling slowly, his eyes fluttering closed. The chakra string wavers and _snaps._ He crosses the room and takes Deidara's hand, and something tight in Deidara's chest unfurls. Itachi places his other hand on Sasori's shoulder and hesitantly leans down to kiss him. Sasori makes a soft sound of surprise and then kisses back _hard,_ pressing up into Itachi's space. Deidara dazedly watches their mouths move in tandem. It is one of the hottest things Deidara has ever seen. Itachi pulls back to breathe and his eyes are dark and hot and half-lidded and that is exactly the kind of sultry expression Deidara has been imagining helping Sasori put on his face for _weeks_.  
  
"Come _here,"_ Deidara says. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to Itachi's palm so he gets the idea. The beauty of an explosion is that it captures an inferno in a single moment. Itachi leans in and it's exactly like that, hot and coppery and melting, a single moment of messy perfection searing brightness behind his eyelids. Itachi's mouth tastes like blood but it's not nearly as unexpected his first kiss with Sasori, which tasted like precisely nothing, and Deidara wants to undress him, he wants to kiss him forever, and he tries to push the ideas behind the thoughts into the tangle of their lips. Itachi _gasps_ into Deidara's mouth, and stumbles to his knees, so that Deidara is leaning down to kiss him instead of leaning up.  
  
_"Fuck,_ " Sasori says emphatically. "That is so hot. You know, there's plenty of room on the bed, Itachi. You don't have to kneel on the floor. Unless you _want to."_ His smoky tone of voice makes Deidara swallow a moan. Sasori _likes_ people kneeling for him. Itachi breaks the kiss and buries his face in Deidara's neck, overwhelmed.  
  
"Just because Sasori thinks something is a good idea doesn't mean it's actually a good idea, hmm," Deidara says, stroking his hands through Itachi's hair. "Come up onto the bed. I don't wan't to have to bend my neck to kiss you, yeah," he says more for Itachi's benefit than his own. Itachi has issues with putting other people's needs before his own, and he might talk himself into something he isn't ready for if he thinks Sasori wants it. Itachi lifts his head and kisses Deidara once, gently, lightly, a mere brush of lips, and then climbs to his feet. Sasori and Deidara make space for Itachi between them.  
  
Deidara strips his shirt off, feeling overheated, and Itachi tentatively leans forward to kiss his chest, trailing hot, soft, syrupy kisses up towards his neck, and Deidara _arches_ into the contact. He cradles Itachi's head in his hands and pulls him closer. He can't help his shaky, bitten-off moan. Sasori pulls the tie from Itachi's hair and it spills like ink over his shoulders, thick and glossy and fragrant and Deidara tangles his hands in it and _yanks—_  
  
_"Ah—”_ Itachi gasps, his back arching as he is seized by a full-body tremor. His head drops to Deidara's chest, and he mumbles, "Do that again. _Please,"_ into Deidara's skin. Deidara meets Sasori's eyes and Sasori _smirks_ and trails a long, appreciative hand down Itachi's spine and says,  
  
"Give him what he wants, Deidara." Deidara _tugs_ on Itachi's hair, yanking his head back, and Itachi digs his teeth into his lip, trying not to make a sound. His entire body is taut and quaking, curved into an unnatural bow by the grip Deidara has on his hair. Deidara smooths a hand up his neck and cups his cheek, and Itachi presses into the contact, making a tiny, desperate sound. He looks ready to _beg._ Sasori molds himself to Itachi's back so his lips are touching Itachi's ear. "Take your clothes off," Sasori orders, "or shall I take them off for you?" Sasori punctuates his question with a languid swipe of tongue, and Itachi stifles a desperate cry into the palm of Deidara's hand. _I want to fuck his mouth,_ Deidara thinks. He wonders if Itachi swallows. Sasori doesn't -  there's nowhere for the cum to go without making a godawful mess - but yeah. He wants to come down Itachi's throat. He wants Itachi to come down _his_ throat. Whichever.  
  
"I — what?" Itachi asks muzzily. He blinks slowly at Deidara, his eyes flickering over his shoulder to Sasori, struggling to process the question.  
  
"Your clothes," Sasori says patiently, already reaching around Itachi to unfasten his cloak. "Deidara, let him up so he can take his arms out." Deidara releases his grip on Itachi's hair and Itachi drops his head with a sigh. He leans against Deidara's chest and takes several deep breaths. Every place that they are touching sends sparks of heat crackling across Deidara's skin. Itachi sits up and slips his arms out of the sleeves of his cloak and strips his shirt over his head. Deidara's mouths dry up at the sight of all that exposed pale skin. _"Oh,"_ Sasori says, hot and silky and languid, "aren't you _lovely."_ He runs his palms down Itachi's bare back with a sharp, deliberate, _dangerous_ expression like he is torn between fucking Itachi and dissecting him in his workshop so that his beauty will never wither.  
  
"You're a work of art, yeah," Deidara says appreciatively. He leans forward and presses his mouth to the dip between Itachi's collarbones. His skin is warm and salty and Deidara can't get enough of it. His palms settle on Itachi's ribcage, mouths warm and wet and pliant, so he's kissing him in three places, three searing points of contact. Itachi shivers and twitches like the sensation is just on this side of too much and he can't decide whether he wants to lean in or pull away. Sasori presses open-mouthed kisses down Itachi's spine, and Itachi chokes on a shuddery exhale. He slumps into their hold like his strings are cut and shakes and _shakes._  
  
"I _need,_ I _can’t—”_ Itachi keens. His nails scrape down Deidara's back. _"Let me up._ It's getting to be too much." He hasn't stopped shaking, like the threshold has been pushed straight from _pleasure_ into _hell._ "You need, you need to _stop."_ Beneath its cracked quality his voice is deathly cold. Deidara can feel the pressure of his chakra surging, sharp and smoky-sweet, like honey and ashes, and he and Sasori immediately give Itachi several feet of space because he tends to solve his problems with Tsukuyomi at the best of times. Itachi fists his hands in his hair, trembling with the aftershocks of overstimulation. Deidara's stomach sinks as he realizes those were _bad_ shivers instead of good shivers.  
  
"Are you going to be okay, Itachi?" Sasori asks carefully. His eyes flicker to Deidara's over Itachi's shoulder, mirroring the contrition that Deidara feels. They shouldn't have pushed him so hard. "Was there something that Deidara and I did wrong?"    
  
"I'm fine," Itachi insists. He takes several deep, shuddering breaths. The familiar cool composure is already settling over his face like a blank mask. "It just. Was a lot. I will be able to continue in a minute." Deidara doesn't want to accuse Itachi of not knowing his own limits, but the scent of his chakra is still smothering the room, heady and lethal. Deidara shares another concerned look with Sasori. He viciously represses the urge to reach out and comfort Itachi. He's doesn't know if touching him will make it worse right now.  
  
"Are you sure you're good, yeah?" Deidara asks. "We can stop if you want to." Deidara will absolutely _loathe_ having to stop when they're finally all in bed together, but Itachi enjoying himself is more important than what Deidara's dick thinks.  
  
"I don't want to stop," Itachi says. He carefully tucks sweat-damp strands of hair behind his ear, a glow of banked heat in his gaze. "I want to watch you kiss Sasori." Deidara's breath catches. Yes, he's happy to do anything Itachi asks him to. Deidara reaches out a hand to Sasori, who raises an eyebrow and crawls into his lap. Their hips slot together perfectly. Sasori threads a hand into Deidara's ponytail and rolls his hips _down,_ and Deidara can't help the high, strung-out _sound_ he makes. He tries to toss his head back but Sasori's grip in his hair pins him in place, and Sasori breathes against his lips,  
  
"Relax. We're going to put on a show." Deidara surges forward to kiss him and it is deep and sloppy and raw, exactly as volatile and fucking _maddening_ as when Deidara first gave up shouting at Sasori that _Art is a single moment!_ to lift him off the ground and kiss him to drive home the _point._ He can feel Sasori's eyelashes brushing his cheek, taste Itachi's chakra lingering in their mouths like smoke. Sasori's grip on his hair is sending tingling needles of pleasure-pain down Deidara's spine. Deidara wants to pull Sasori into his lungs to breathe him like air. He gets so _frustrated_ in moments like this that Sasori can only feel pressure, not pleasure.  
  
Sasori's hand begins a slow, inexorable slide down Deidara's abdomen, and that is not _on,_ he's not just going to let Sasori have his _way,_ and Deidara tips Sasori backwards to the bed and comes crashing down on top of him. _"Oh,"_ Sasori says, soft and startled and breathy. His hair spills across the blankets in a voluminous red cloud. He can try to deny it all he likes, but Deidara knows Sasori _likes_ being manhandled. Itachi makes a tiny, appreciative sound. Sasori sends Itachi a saccharine look from under his eyelashes and throws a leg over Deidara's waist and _grinds_ their hips together. For a moment all Deidara can focus on is _hot bright white._ He buries his face in Sasori's neck and chokes out,  
  
_"Fuck."_ He wants Sasori to pin him to the bed and hold him down and fuck him with a strap-on, and he doesn't want him to let him up until he's strung out and shaking and sobbing from overstimulation and begging _Danna, please, stop._ Sasori traces the outline of Deidara's cock through his pants, and Deidara _shudders._ He bites his lips around a moan. This isn't enough nearly enough friction. He angles his head to look at Itachi. His face is flushed, but he is as still as a porcelain statue. "Are you planning to join us again, hmm?" Deidara asks. "If you get down here I can suck you off and eat you out at the same time." He flashes Itachi one of his grinning palms so it's obvious what he's talking about.  
  
Itachi's eyes fly wide and his breath _hitches. "Deidara,"_ he pleads, quiet and hoarse and wanting. "If you are willing, I'd like to try out a genjutsu." His voice dips like he knows what a concession this will be. Sasori freezes in the middle of unzipping Deidara's trousers. Deidara doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad one. But Itachi looks flushed and earnest and vulnerable. There is a light in his eyes like doors that are normally slammed shut have opened just a crack. He's reaching out to Deidara for once. Deidara can afford to at least _consider_ a genjutsu, in the face of that.  
  
"What kind of genjutsu?" he asks warily.  
  
"An intimate one?" Itachi says with a tiny amused quirk of the lips, as if the answer should be self-evident. He regards Deidara from beneath his eyelashes. Something soft and hot is tangled in Deidara's chest. He needs to kiss Itachi _right now._ Sasori makes a strangled, desperate sound, and shoves Deidara in Itachi's direction.  
  
"Go," he says. "Let him put you under the genjutsu. It will be _worth it,_ Deidara. When he trapped me in his Tsukuyomi, he had me convinced me that I was feeling pain." Sasori sounds absolutely mesmerized. Deidara reaches out for Itachi, and he smiles and connects their lips in a tiny closed-mouth burst of fluttery sensation. Deidara's heart feels overfull. Itachi breaks the kiss slowly. Itachi's breath is warm and humid where they share the same air, and his eyes are half-lidded, and his Sharingan _spin._ Deidara closes his left eye in preparation.  
  
The light is soft and hazy like strawberry syrup, and every inch of Deidara's nerve endings feel filled with molten light. Itachi licks into his mouth and they melt into each other, hot and wanton and slow. Every fingerprint sensation where Itachi's hands caress his shoulders makes Deidara _shiver,_ pouring heat into his stomach. Itachi's hands are scorching, and he isn't afraid to burn. Itachi's touch is on his back, and on his chest, and on his cock, _all at once,_ and Deidara is _hot hot hot,_ and he sinks his teeth into Itachi's bottom lip so he doesn't scream.  
  
Time is slow and sticky like molasses in a daydream, and Itachi buries his teeth in Deidara's neck and he _groans._ Itachi scissors his fingers inside him, and the sudden shock of the touch makes Deidara clench down _hard._ Deidara's cock is slick and dripping and he throws his head back and _pants._ His breath comes out in little foggy clouds. There is too much syrupy heat pounding behind his eyelids. He feels like he's going to _melt,_ like he's going to _drown,_ like he's going to _die._ Itachi's fingers are twisted in his hair, and gripping his shaking hands, and plunging deep inside him, and Deidara can't keep track, there are too many dreamlike limbs. Itachi's touch is _everywhere,_ his touch is _everything,_ and all Deidara can manage is "Ah, ah, _ah—!”_ as the hazy smoldering illusion reaches a crescendo and his vision whites out into _nothing_ as he comes.  
  
Deidara shakes and pants, coming down from the high. When he cracks open his eyes he realizes that all the touch was an illusion because Itachi has never _moved._ "What the hell, yeah," he groans, tilting his head back and hiding his face in his hands. His voice is completely cracked. He can't believe he came without being _touched._ "You can't just _do_ that... Ugh," he trails off huffily as he realizes that Itachi _can_ and he _did_ and it pretty much _rocked his world._ "Never mind, it was kind of amazing, hmm," Deidara admits, peering out at Itachi from behind his hands. Itachi offers him a tiny, smug smile.  
  
"Genjutsu is very versatile," he says contentedly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." Deidara wants to reach out and kiss the smile off the face. Then he wants to press him down to the bed and _choke_ on his cock. Before he can act on either impulse Sasori makes a frustrated, impatient noise and orders,  
  
"Itachi, _get over here._ It's my turn now." His voice is taut and sharp and dangerous. His fists are clenched and his eyes are hot and his chin is tilted upwards. Deidara has rarely seen Sasori want anything so desperately. Itachi obeys. He reaches out to Sasori and cradles his face in his hands. Sasori digs his fingers into Itachi's wrists. "I know you can make me feel pleasure in a genjutsu," Sasori says, terse and breathless. "You know what I want, and I'm out of patience." The subtle, precarious tension that has been yawning between them since the first time Itachi trapped Sasori in his Tsukuyomi is finally cresting towards its breaking point.  
  
Itachi tilts his head, and rakes a shrewd, considering gaze over Sasori's face. He strokes a finger across Sasori's cheek, and Sasori leans into the contact and his breath _hitches._ "Itachi, please, don't make me beg," Sasori rasps, his eyelashes fluttering. His voice is low and rough like he'll hate every second of it but he'll beg if he _has_ to. Itachi presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Sasori's mouth. He draws back and Sasori chases the contact. Itachi gives him another soft little peck, and then his Sharingan _swirl_ and there's a suspended moment where Sasori goes absolutely still.  
  
Then Sasori _gasps_ and his mouth falls open and he throws his head back, arching into imaginary contact. "Fuck, _fuck,_ the _hell—”_ Sasori pants and he _trembles._ Deidara's mouths dry up. Oh _god._ He's never seen Sasori react like that, shivering and _shaking._ He's getting hard again, and it _aches._ "Itachi don't you _dare stop,"_ Sasori orders and it turns into a breathy, drawn-out moan. He rocks his hips _forward,_ a single desperate, shivery movement, and Deidara decides that inviting Itachi into their bed was the most brilliant idea that him and Sasori have ever had.  
  
Sasori makes a tiny needy shaky _sound_ and pitches forward into Itachi's grip. He looks vulnerable and _fucked-out,_ like a good portion of his impenetrable defenses are finally down, and Deidara can't resist reaching out and touching him. He slots himself up behind Sasori and strokes his fingers through his hair. "Deidara?" Sasori asks faintly. He _shudders,_ and Deidara nods against the crown of his head. "Deidara, it's so _good."_ Sasori sounds completely blissed out. Deidara wants to strip Sasori's cloak off and mold himself to the contours of his body, skin to skin, but, well, _poison._ "Ah, _ah—!,_ _damn you_ Itachi," Sasori _whines_ into Itachi's arms. "How the _hell,_ I don't even have a _cock—”_   A slender trail of blood inches down one of Itachi's cheeks, and the genjutsu snaps from the strain.  
  
All of the tension eases out of Sasori's body. He releases his convulsive grip on Itachi's arms and pushes himself upright, shoring up his familiar calm composure like a cloak. He carefully tucks errant red curls behind his ear. "You certainly delivered, Itachi," Sasori comments. "I didn't... come..." his tone makes it clear he's uncertain how well the terminology applies to himself. "But I think I came close. It obviously isn't perfectly suited for individuals who lack the requisite body parts." Not even the criticism can disguise his heartfelt wonder.  
  
Itachi swipes the trail of blood of his cheek with his thumb. "It was an experiment," he says carefully. "I'm never sure how precisely a genjutsu will effect your unique anatomy, and I didn't anticipate the strain on my Sharingan. Do you want me to try to perfect it for you in the future?" Sasori reels Itachi in by the hair and kisses him _hard._  
  
"Yes. _Thank you,"_ he murmurs fervently against Itachi's lips. Deidara watches over the slope of his shoulder as Sasori drags a hand up Itachi's inner thigh. "Let us repay you, Itachi. We want to make you feel just as good as you made us feel in that genjutsu." Sasori's voice drips into dark, _dark_ velvet, and Itachi bites his lip on a shivery inhale. "Come, Deidara," Sasori directs, squeezing his hand. "Circle around behind him and let's lie him down between us. We'll go slow, Itachi, so you won't get overwhelmed again." Deidara gets to his knees and crawls around Itachi until he is at his back. He sweeps Itachi's hair to the side and presses a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.  
  
Sasori presses his hands down on Itachi's shoulders and he collapses gracefully to the bed. His eyes are dark and soft and trusting, and Deidara realizes with a little flicker of awe, _We put that expression on his face._ This is the first time that Deidara has ever seen his Sharingan turned off. Sasori follows Itachi down to the bed and licks a slick, damp open-mouthed trail from the peak of Itachi's clavicle to his shoulder. Deidara lays down and nestles up behind him. His face is half-smothered in silky hair and he doesn't even _care._ Sasori reaches out and links his fingers with Deidara's, and they drag their conjoined hands up and up and _up_ the planes of Itachi's ribcage in a slow, inexorable slide. Deidara threads his other hand into Itachi's hair and _tugs,_ and Itachi stifles a quiet moan into the sheets. Then he _tenses_ all over and lets out a shuddery _sob,_ and Deidara knows Sasori must have gotten his fingers around his cock. "This is just like the genjutsu, yeah," Deidara says, "hands _everywhere."_  
  
Sasori sends Deidara a smoky-hot spark of conspiratorial eye contact. "We should aim higher," he murmurs against Itachi's skin. "Let's try to make it even _better_ than the genjutsu." He punctuates the statement with a wicked twist of his wrist, and Itachi _keens._ The sound sends heat flooding though Deidara's veins, and he presses his face into the space between Itachi's shoulder blades and rolls his hips _forward. Better than the genjutsu._ That sounds like a goal to aspire to, chasing that hazy sort of melty smoldering delirium.


End file.
